


treadmills and punching bags

by fictitiousregrets



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gym AU, M/M, Pre-Relationship, a TRASH FIC, but earnestly written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictitiousregrets/pseuds/fictitiousregrets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's singing outdated pop songs in the shower and everything is so very strange. Adam isn't sure what's happening, but he's got a feeling it's only going to get more confusing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	treadmills and punching bags

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PsycoticLollipop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsycoticLollipop/gifts).



> Hello hello!!! This is a trash fic brought to you by tumblr prompts, sleep deprived writing, and an endless need to write about trash boys falling for each other very very slowly. I took a few liberties with the prompt, mostly because the second secret network insisted on Taylor Swift, so I figured, hey. Let's do you one better: let's do a pop survey.
> 
> Quick note-- Ronan and Adam are in college in this fic, so they're approximately 20/21.
> 
> prompt from tumblr: “we work out at the same gym and you always look super legit but i know you sing hannah montana in the shower and you know i know” au

Frankly, this was starting to get ridiculous. For weeks now, Adam had been making time to go to the gym, and every time he went, he always felt a pair of eyes on him. Yes, that was strange—you can't feel eyes on you. But this man's gaze was so very intense that Adam seemed to think it merited classification as another set of fingers. It was a very... probing gaze, he mused as he ran on the treadmill.   
  
The other guy was lifting weights like he meant it. Like he was getting ready to fight someone. Come to think of it, Adam did see him working with a punching bag a few times. Perhaps he was a prize-fighter. It was only afterwards, when he went to wash up, that he got another look at that strange boxer.   
  
He was singing in the shower. It wasn't bad, really. He wasn't terrible—however, he was warbling something that sounded suspiciously familiar, and not in a very good way. Adam could have sworn he heard this particular song at the doctor's office when the television was set unchangeably to Disney Channel.   
  
In his shock, Adam didn't realize that this guy was Boxer Guy—even with his shaved head in proximity, it didn't hit Adam until afterwards, and then it sucker punched him. Politely.   
  
Boxer Guy was singing "If We Were A Movie", one of those Hannah Carolina things. Wait, no. Hannah Montana. That was it. Adam made a face at the realization of the fact that he knew that. 

But he was being rude and eavesdropping, even if it seemed that Boxer Guy didn't necessarily care who heard him singing, so Adam left.

Three days later, it was Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone".

Two days after that, Britney Spears's "Baby One More Time".

A day after that, Taylor Swift's "Blank Space."

That was where it got weird. Every time after that, it was always a Taylor Swift song. This guy even got into the earlier stuff, Adam realized. The ones he hadn't heard for years now—and that was dedication.

And then Adam bumped into him in the locker room. _Ohhh fuck._ He seemed a lot tougher up close, somehow, and it was nearly fucking impossible to reconcile this rough image with the teardrops on his goddamn guitar.

“Uh--” Adam started, and then blinked at himself. The other guy raised his eyebrows and looked vaguely amused. 

“Ronan,” he said, and Adam started.

“Come again?”

Boxer Guy snorted. “My name is Ronan Lynch. Next time you listen in on me in the shower room, have the decency to fucking sing along.”

“I’m Adam Parrish,” he offered by way of response. “And I wasn’t listening in on purpose. You were singing pretty loudly.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Ronan grinned, a sharp expression on his handsome face.

There were too many questions to ask all at once, and Adam had work to get to, so he just made his excuses, said his goodbyes, shook Ronan’s hand, and left, shaking his head as he departed at how strange the encounter had been.

 

* * *

 

Adam had been steadily building his cardio over the past few weeks, so he wasn’t very flustered at all when Ronan struck up a conversation by hopping on the treadmill next to him and casually walking at the slowest rate possible.

“Taylor Swift, huh?” Adam muttered as he jogged evenly.

Ronan shrugged, leaning on the treadmill’s dashboard casually with his arms while continuing to walk at that languid pace. “Got a problem with T-Swift?”

“No,” the other man replied honestly. “Just surprised. I thought someone like you would prefer terrible EDM.” 

“Day one of knowing me, and you’ve already got opinions on me.” With anyone else, this might have sounded accusatory, but Ronan managed to make it sound as if he were commenting on the weather.

It was Adam’s turn to shrug as he jogged. “You probably have opinions on me, too.”

“Opinions? Nah,” Ronan replied. With some surprise, Adam noted that he looked a little nervous. Why would he be nervous?

And then he saw where Ronan’s eyes were. Not just on his face, though they did stop there often, but everywhere. Adam was not oblivious, not like some other people he could name, and he knew when he was being given a once-over. He was being given several at that moment, and took his own moment to give Ronan several once-overs.

By the end of it, he had decided. “You sing Taylor Swift in the gym showers, but I think that’s a forgivable offense.” Adam was actually breathing a little heavier now, still jogging, but he gave Ronan a keen look. “Do you also go to restaurants? With people?”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed as if he wasn’t sure what was happening. “Sometimes.”

“Then you wouldn’t be opposed to going to one with me, would you?” Adam pressed some buttons on the treadmill, making the thing slowly return to its flat stance at a lower movement rate.

“Depends,” Ronan replied. “Do you like EDM?”

Adam couldn’t help laughing breathlessly as he shut the machine off, grabbed his towel, and shook his head, going to shower.

 


End file.
